


Unavoidable Imperfections

by AlyssumFlowers



Series: Imperfect Sins [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Lyrium, Modern Character in Thedas, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Portal Fantasy, Tags May Change, Tevinter Imperium (Dragon Age), Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 14:04:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22979188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyssumFlowers/pseuds/AlyssumFlowers
Summary: omnis traductor traditor  - every translator is a traitor"Every translation is a corruption of the original; the reader should take heed of Unavoidable Imperfections."Moderne Earth gal gets a job that's too good to be true, but in this economy who can be bothered to read the fine print?This is a collection of drabbles, bits, and baubles of the life of Olivia Valois in the Tevinter Imperium and in Thedas.
Series: Imperfect Sins [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1651375
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VisceralComa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisceralComa/gifts), [GrumpkinVicky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpkinVicky/gifts), [LonelyAgain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonelyAgain/gifts).

> The chapters are not in chronological order. They're in the order that I write/post them. Eventually when I get enough of these ideas out of my head and onto Ao3, I will probably re-organize them into chronological order. 
> 
> Also adding tags as I go, or as the characters/stuff gets introduced.
> 
> Thank you most especially to Coma, Lonely, and Vicky, but also to the whole MCiT/Portal Fantasy Discord server, without whom I would have never written, much less gotten to this point. 💝💝💝

The carriage rumbled off almost the second Olivia had stepped out into the opulent crowd. She watched as Magisters, nobility, and other important mages descended from carriages in a rainbow of colors and heraldry. Her eyes widened when she caught a few of the coats of arms _ moving_: lions and bears roaring, snakes wriggling, dragons breathing flame across the cloth. Not all were drawn by horses: others by dracolisks, nuggalopes, camels, alpacas, even spirits and some by nothing at all. She noticed one with large, strange, scaled wheels that rolled of their own accord. When the carriage stopped, the wheels sprung open to reveal themselves to be weevil-like creatures. Carpets flew overhead to make deliveries straight to the side and rear of the mansion up ahead. Elephants topped with howdahs marched slowly towards the valet area. She didn't want to know how they were going to park those.

Olivia tugged at her dress in an attempt to smooth it out discreetly. Again. Nerves. They made her antsy, twitchy, almost itchy all over. She wanted to hunch in on herself, wanted to rip the stupid thing off and go home to the comfort of sweatpants and over-sized t-shirts. Nope, couldn’t do that. It was not possible. She had to put such thoughts out of her head. She took a deep breath, straightened, and stepped forward into the crowd.

The flow of people guided her to the mansion. She expected everyone to just go inside, but the massive entrance was the neck of a funnel. They must have been checking for something, or handing out something at the door. She couldn't see the open doors through all the people. 

Hands clenched, unclenched, and clenched again by Olivia’s side. She looked around and lifted herself on tiptoes every few steps, trying to catch a glimpse ahead, be it for someone she knew or to see what was going on at the doors. Either would help ease Olivia’s nerves. She didn't like not knowing things. She had no clue where exactly she was, much less what precisely was to be expected of her here. The carriage had shown up (she'd been told ahead that it would) and knew where to go. No address was asked for, nor needed. Neither was payment for the ride. Her first time in a carriage, and she wasn't sure if it was the equivalent of a taxi or a limo, or whether any of that was normal, or if it was the perks of the company paying for everything.

She'd been told someone would escort her, but she wasn't quite sure where to meet them. It seemed sort of implied they'd find her before she got in, but Olivia hadn't seen anyone she recognized, nor had anyone approached or even addressed her yet. She was getting closer and closer to the entrance and still had no more information.

Suddenly, there was someone at her elbow. An elven boy dressed in messenger's livery gently tugged at the edge of her corset and was gone before she had a chance to ask what the hell he was doing. A tiny talisman was now attached just above her right hip. It bore the company logo, so Olivia assumed it was so she could enter. She really hoped they wouldn't have gone through all the trouble to send her to a party just to kill her or something…. 

When she got to the doors, Olivia realized the guards on either side were just decoration. No one was checked or handed anything precisely. There was a slim iridescent barrier covering the entire entrance, like the edges of a soap bubble. As groups approached the barrier, they slowed their steps and separated to clearly display who they were entering with, and to give the person standing at the door a chance to get a look at them. The doorman held a glowing tablet and appeared to be checking off a list, or recording who was entering. Except he wasn't typing anything or writing or pressing any buttons on the tablet. He just looked over at the guests and then back again at the tablet. 

She passed through the soap bubble barrier alone and did not burst into flame. She wasn't sure if it was her anxiety or if she felt eyes upon her as she entered unescorted. Breathe. Olivia kept walking like she knew where she was going, following those ahead of her, but switching it up so that she was never following the same person for too long. She realized she might have gotten a bit lost when she couldn't see the entrance anymore. Not like that could backfire or anything….

> _ So you want to start a war  
_ _In the age of archons  
_ _So you want to be immortal  
_ _Defy all the gods  
_ _So you want to start a war  
_ _So you want to start a war _

The song sounded familiar, too familiar, like it might be from home? She wasn’t sure; she couldn’t pin it down. It was hard to concentrate. Something made her dizzy. Was the dress too tight? Had she not eaten enough? Not gotten enough sleep? Any of those were likely enough, to be perfectly honest. Or…

Olivia eyed the large brass cauldron in the center courtyard, blue smoke rolled up and over the edges. It trailed lazily across the floor into the surrounding rooms. Olivia stayed as far away from the creeping fog as she could. 

She took a deep breath and tried to stabilize herself, but the jitters only seemed to get worse. She’d get about a second of clarity from the breath before she started shaking again. She took another deep breath and tried to daintily sit down on a couch. Was it knees together, ankles crossed? Was it knees together at an angle? Was she supposed to not show her ankle? Should she look to see if others had ankles on show? 

She tightly squeezed her eyes shut and gripped fistfuls of dress at her knees. She should have eaten more before she got here, but she’d been running late. There was food, but she was afraid of eating the wrong thing, from the wrong plate, or at the wrong time, with the wrong fork or something. Was she even supposed to eat at all in this situation? This was the ankle thing all over again.  
  
Honestly, she wasn’t sure what most of the food was, and was equally afraid of it being gross. Some of it was recognizable, but who knew what the ingredients were. Just because it looked like pork, didn’t mean it wasn’t the meat of some other beast. Which could be far more disgusting than expected. Like that one time in Jamaica she’d gotten a lamb burger…. Although, that was probably because the meat was bad. She’d had lamb on other occasions and it was delicious. 

Olivia’s stomach grumbled and she hoped it was too soft for anyone to hear. With all the talk, movement, and music, it was loud in here. But her stomach sounded louder to her, being so close to the source of the noise. 

There was giggling to her right that she had perhaps heard before, but not noticed. Now, however, it was getting increasingly annoying as the sound got louder and louder. She gritted her teeth and had to stifle a growl. And then a cough to her left caught her attention. It wasn’t very loud so she wasn’t sure how she heard it above the cacophony of a million other types of noises. 

The noises suddenly dropped in volume, and for that she was grateful. She looked up to her left at the source of the cough and recognized Marcel standing there. 

He was holding out a hand like the gentleman he was. She allowed him to help her to her feet, and to tuck her arm in his. It looked a bit less like she was leaning on him that way. Olivia was pleasantly surprised he didn't seem to mind and decided he was her hero. He didn't walk her over to the food table, but rather deftly snagged snacks off wandering trays until she no longer felt like vomiting all over her very pretty dress. 

Marcel didn't offer her an apology for not having met her like he was supposed to (she assumed he was the one supposed to meet her since he'd come to find her), so she didn't thank him for the food. She was too busy stuffing her face anyway. As he led her away from the blue smoke, her steps became more sure. She could breathe again. Her head hurt and her throat was a bit dry, but she was already starting to feel better. It was like he read her mind when he pushed a clear drink into her hand. She eyed it dubiously. He glanced over in time to catch her and rolled his eyes. She took a sip. Water. Oh.

When she drank too quickly, his grip on her arm tightened. It loosened when she acted like a lady and drank at a respectable pace. Olivia had to admit it was entirely thanks to Marcel that she was much more presentable (standing on her own, able to breathe, stomach no longer growling, nausea and dizziness leaving her) by the time they reached the group of boring old men, some of whom she even recognized.

She had seen Aurelian Govani, an executive from the company around the office before and often asked Danelius Haider, Marcel's adjuster in the office next door, for help when Dodgeson was not available (which was always). She knew old Magister Ahrimand quite well, as he was one of hers- well, Dodgeson's- clients. She didn't know the two businessmen with them were until she heard them speak: Halward Caliveri who was an executive at a major grocer's and catering company and Jeren Baranus, whose company built much of the newer buildings in Tevinter. She'd heard their voices plenty of times from answering the phones. Olivia had never met the last man, but were she a gambling woman, she'd put money on him being nobility. As they approached, she overhead something about House Pavus and Govani calling him Caeruleum.

"Ah! Marcel you found her! This is the lovely Olivia Valois I was telling you about. She's an up and coming star in our company, and will be a credit to our society's future."

"Isn't Valois an Orlesian name?" Caliveri asked with a skeptical frown. 

"Not exactly. I, uh-" Olivia started but was interrupted.

"Yes, her family more recently hails from Orlais, but they were Tevene originally and we're facilitating her repatriation. The company is sponsoring her through this process." There were some grunts of acknowledgement, as if they were not especially impressed yet, but not about to disagree. 

"Citizenship, really?" Jeren asked with a scoff of disbelief. 

Olivia frowned and then rubbed her nose to hide it. She would have been surprised at the notion of her becoming a citizen too, but Govani hadn't used the word 'citizen' at all. Citizenship was complicated here, a very specific legal status reserved for those born Tevene who also fit within strict requirements. Many people lived in Tevinter and had basic rights and privileges as residents and other legal statuses.

"We expect great things from her." An eyebrow raised, some hums of understanding.

"Your company sponsors an awful lot of foreigners," Caeruleum Pavus commented.

"We're just bringing our own home," Govani responded, which seemed to satisfy him for some reason.

"Taking jobs from Tevene hands," Jeren the feisty insisted.

"Not true. We only champion the best, and the majority of those, of course, are Tevene. Marcellus Aloysius" Govani indicated Marcel next to her. "was born and raised right here in Minrathous."

The discussion turned towards the economy which Olivia barely listened to, sipping from her glass any time she felt the urge to yawn. That is, until Jeren passed an impolitic comment about a woman in the vicinity, rolling his eyes, disgusted. Olivia hummed acknowledgement and glanced over his shoulder to see the person to whom he was referring. Her brows furrowed for a second before she smoothed out her face. 

An elven woman conversed with some other Magisters. She was dressed too nicely to be a servant or slave, even for someone trying to show off their wealth by well-outfitting their household. The woman held herself like she belonged, despite the obvious displeasure of the majority of those in her company. 

The corner of Olivia’s mouth quirked upwards in an involuntary smirk for a fraction of a second. _ Good for her. _The woman had balls, clearly. The white-haired elf to her left was clearly her bodyguard. He was tense. His eyes flicked across every person there, not lingering for longer than necessary. Paranoid - no, ready. 

It was just a glance, not long enough to linger. But as she was about to look away, she caught a flash of bright, lyrium blue. Some fool had put his hand on the elven woman’s upper arm and her bodyguard _ glowed _ and glowered at the man. He was covered in some kind of elaborate tattoo she hadn’t noticed at first because the armor covered most of it, but the tattoo flared briefly through the thick armor. It faded as quickly as it had flashed, but only because the idiot’s hand had dropped like the elven woman herself was on fire. 

Olivia raised her eyebrows and turned back to the person who made the comment. “Well then." More nasty comments were made. "She seems to know what she’s doing,” Olivia commented into her drink. 

When the others' heads were turned, Marcel leaned over and hissed in her ear, "Isn't that the one ** _you_ ** made a Magister?"

She gasped softly, eyes widening for a second when his warm breath brushed her skin, before pressing her lips tightly together. "How was I supposed to know?" she hissed back, flustered.

"It's not like there are literally any other elven Magisters, Olivia."

"You know I can't be bothered to keep up with politics." She scoffed and brushed hair out of her face with her free hand. A discreet glance over her shoulder. "And anyways, I thought we all agreed it was Dodgeson's fault for not doing his damn job," she hissed quickly. Marcel snorted. "It's **true**. We've been through this. And it's not like it was even illegal anyways. Technically, I did everything by. the. book. I did what I could with what I had when I was thrown into the fire head-fucking-first." 

"You're just lucky Dodgeson is such a fuckup and it was in his name, not yours. You need to pay better attention, including- _ especially _ to politics. You're involved now." She frowned but didn't have a chance to ask what he meant by that because the other men had turned and someone was asking Marcel a question. 

She cleared her expression and took a dainty sip from the drink she was holding. Always at least two fingers held over it, but trying not to be too obvious. Because even in polite society, you couldn't trust the fuckers with her drink. She smoothed out her dress again with her other hand and went back to making blank-faced acknowledgement noises as if she was fascinated by whatever they were saying.

She hadn't technically _ made _ Varania a Magister exactly. Magister Danarius had died, _ slaughtered _ by some awful magical ghost-assassin and left no heirs, no next of kin. The closest had been his one surviving apprentice. The rest had- surprise, surprise- died in the massacre. It wasn't enough to sneeze at, much less raise any red flags. Barring kin, and often even expressly stated in the will, it was standard procedure for an apprentice to inherit from his master. Including titles, if there was no other claim to them. A male apprentice was preferred, of course, but female apprentices received the same rights and privileges too. 

As far as she had known, everything was in order. On paper, at least. Dodgeson's files had been a hot fucking mess and hadn't mentioned anything that should have clued her in. As House Danarius' handling adjuster, meeting with this heir was simply part of processing the estate. But Dodgeson had gotten drunk and was napping it off at his desk. So Olivia had arranged for a conference call instead, and did it her own damn self. It's not like she could hear pointed ears through the audio crystal, Karen, and she couldn't well let the Magister-to-be see that she was not in fact Dodgeson, just his assistant.

As soon as she'd found out, before the bosses had, she'd scrambled to double-check herself. But technically elves could be apprentices, as that was how one could become a Liberati. In fact, Liberati were legally not only allowed but _ required _ to take up a trade, as part of being a productive member of society. There was no law or even just company policy which stated an elf could not inherit, as none had ever tried before.

The paperwork had already been done and sent out for seals of approval. There was nothing she could do and no legal restrictions with which she could have the papers voided. Varania had quietly slipped right through the loophole.

It did help that Varania coincidentally just so happened to inherit the _ perfect _ bodyguard. A bit difficult to assassinate someone protected by the lyrium-infused elven _ perrepatae- _ a mage-killer- that followed her everywhere.


	2. Recalculating

“Recalculating.” A strangled scream narrowly escaped her throat as she slowed to a stop at the next left turn lane, once again a street too late. Olivia breathed in deeply in time for the traffic light to change green. She whined and circled the block for the fifth time, slowing to a crawl this time when she turned left onto the large one-way street the office she was trying to get to was supposedly on.

“Turn left in-” A horn honked behind her, drowning out the GPS. She flipped off her rear-view mirror and picked up the phone lying haphazardly in her cup holder. She could have sworn she had already turned into this one before, and it had been one too early- or was it one too late? Whatever. She turned left into the parking lot at a crawl, one eye on the map on her phone held at dash level, and ignored the car she could see out of the corner of her eye angrily zooming off behind her. 

She let the GPS lead her until she was about on top of the dot, but there was a building in the way in front of her. She parked in the middle of the quiet parking lot and put down the phone to look around her. See, this wasn’t– Oh. She pressed the home button repeatedly until the map left the screen and checked her e-mail against the small, faded numbers on the building in front of her. They nearly blended into the wall, which explained why she hadn’t seen them from the street. She tossed her phone into her purse on the seat next to her and found a place to park properly. She could see the cars now, parked at random throughout the mostly-empty lot.

The building was clean, but old and worn. Lazy fans circled overhead like vultures waiting for the dying to give up. An old and yellowed window unit near the receptionist’s desk chugged away as best it could but was no match for the New Orleans heat and humidity. Empty chairs lined the walls. The chairs were dirty-looking, faded plastic. The walls were paneled wood older than she was. The small glass tables were clean of smudges, but the metal bases were covered in scratches. Each of the tables were covered in a small handful of neatly organized but outdated magazines. At first the place seemed entirely empty, abandoned. Though she could see more hallways and offices past the desk, no noise came from them. The only sounds were the soft hissing of the old window unit, the hum of air conditioning that didn’t feel like it was even turned on at all, and the soft click of the fans overhead. Then the pop of chewing gum alerted her to the presence behind the raised counter of the receptionist’s desk. 

Olivia approached the desk and only then could she see the secretary behind it, slumped back in the chair with legs propped up across the desk. The secretary kept chewing gum; raised eyebrows were the only indication Olivia had been noticed at all. 

She cleared her throat and swallowed. “I uhm-” Pop. Olivia coughed and tried again. “I’m here for the data entry job. A- uh the temp agency sent me?”

The secretary blinked at her once, twice, and then slowly sat up enough to press a button hidden behind the counter that buzzed loudly. Pop. The woman slowly turned her head to look at the door behind her and then back at Olivia, before slumping back into her seat once more. 

With a gulp, Olivia hurried to the door. She tried to push it open and panicked a little at first when the door wouldn’t give. Pop. Olivia’s eyes refocused and she saw the sign: PULL. Oh, duh, right. She pulled. 

It was a little harder to do than she was expecting. The door was a large, heavy, metal one that came open with a noise much like opening the refrigerator too soon after closing it, as if she was fighting against the door’s seal. She stumbled backwards a little from the momentum and quickly darted through the door before it tried to close on her again. Frigid air washed over her like a bucket full of ice water. She shivered. A glance up revealed a vent directly above her head; a small strip of paper was attached to it, flapping happily in the gusts of icy air.

The vent was on a small overhang jutting out to cover the concrete platform on which she stood. The platform was big enough for two or three of her to stand comfortably, with metal railings. Metal stairs to her right led down into what once was a warehouse, now repurposed into a giant office. Hundreds of people were scattered throughout, like crazed ants when their hill was disturbed. She could hear the cacophony of phones ringing, people talking, and keyboards clacking from where she stood, but it wasn’t overwhelming this high up. Rows upon rows of grey cubicles were divided into rows and aisles by the grey and white stripes on the otherwise green carpet she could make out from here. She couldn’t help but smile. It reminded her of looking down from an airplane, or those rugs in kindergarten with roads on them. 

Her eyes followed the gleaming white walls up to the balconies lining the other three walls a bit above her. Some were connected to each other, and others weren’t, but all lead into lush offices with wooden desks and shelves, plush carpets, and other signs of wealth and warmth. Some even had chairs and tables on the personal balconies that weren’t connected to other offices. The few people on those balconies were absorbed in what they were doing, watching the office below, or on their way to another connected office, or speaking to one another. Except one person she could barely make out on one of the balconies closest to her on her right. He leaned on the railing facing the door she’d come out of, and straightened when her gaze passed him. She gasped, ducked her head, and scurried down the stairs to the main floor below.


End file.
